Redneck...

Ron and I are moving furniture today. Not just any furniture. Well, actually Ron is, and I am his very feeble assistant. My bedroom furniture that I waited years for... With the movers arriving next Monday, it probably shouldn't seem as if we should be worried about furniture...but you see those Allied guys couldn't get the bedroom set into the bedroom, so I suspect those United guys might have a few issues removing it.

My armoire was our first project and now it sits proudly in my living room. Ron had to remove the crown molding from it.

Then came the headboard. I love my headboard. Ron could not get it into the bedroom...at all when it arrived in Pittsburgh. Not even a little. Not even up the stairs. Not wanting to disappoint me he called a guy from the job to come help, removed a few board, and a window. Then they hoisted my headboard in through the window. Yep, a handy little rope and a lot of "man" power had my bedroom set up and waiting for me in my new home in Pittsburgh, PA.

Well, now it is time to take it back down, except this time it is just Ron and me. I am not the wimpiest woman in the world, but...this is a project. Ron was worried about it, I could tell. When I walked into the room to assist he had his rope carefully tied around the headboard. Luckily he has extensive mine rescue training, and to be honest, if I was ever trapped underground, I hope my husband is there to rescue me. He is thoughtful, methodical, and focused...intensely. I know he has practiced lowering men down a raise which requires being wrapped in a basket that is 24" wide and 6'6" long. Beware belly compression may be necessary. The raise is literally a vertical passage, and yep, I mean straight up and down with a ladder and it is only a few feet square...when I was crawling up it, my battery pack would bump the sides.

Anyway, on a tangent now, but Ron has training in ropes and such, so I trust him completely. So I stood by rather helplessly by as he began lowering the bed down. My job was to hold the rope, and then as he leaned out the window, he changed his plan and wanted me outside. Down the stairs I ran and out the door. I reached up to guide it down because he still had the weight on the rope. Thus my bed is ready to go to California. I suspect our neighbors are happy to see their redneck family depart.

Yee Haw...California, here we come!!

Tooth Fairy

Chayse discovered her first loose tooth a couple weeks ago. When she showed Daddy yesterday, we realized how loose it had gotten. We started encouraging her to work the tooth back and forth so it would pop out, and she would be blessed with a visit from the tooth fairy.

Everyone was offering her suggestions and assistance, but to no avail as the tooth continued to hang from a thread. Eventually, she went to the bathroom mirror so she could see what she was doing. Kade updated me that she was a bit concerned with a few drops of blood.

A little later Ron came into the room looking for a pliers. I suspected Daddy was going to assist in the end. A few minutes later Chayse's first baby tooth was out! I didn't even hear a cry.

She carefully left her tooth for the tooth fairy. Bright and early this morning she discovered cold, hard cash in its place. Delighted, she was ready to go shopping.

Instead we went to the opening day of the neighborhood pool sporting her new toothless grin...proudly.

Precious Moment

The other day I was cleaning. It was hot and humid. I was sweaty and dirty. Before I could even clean up, the realtors arrived.

Later I apologized to Kiahra for my shoddy appearance, to which she replied, "I don't care what you wear, as long as you are there."

Last Day...

of preschool today. Tomorrow is the family picnic to help us kick off summer. It is the first of many last days here.

Chayse has flourished in preschool. She has loved every single day. The creative structure of Bellwood has been fabulous for nurturing her love of learning. She is ready for kindergarten in the fall. Very ready. She has been waiting to be five and go to school with the rest of the gang for years...literally.

Though it is bittersweet to know that this is once again my last season of preschool, I am ready too.

Primarily...because every day I join the drop off and pick up line which snakes around the little school. It is a one way street. There is no exiting once in line. I struggle often with this process, as teachers are always present to help your child from the vehicle and escort them safely inside. This is plan is to keep the line moving. They ask that you politely and promptly move forward so the next person in line may take their turn dropping his/her child off at school. There is a parking lot below for the times it will take longer or you need to linger.

One day last winter, the school nurse called me on my cell phone as I was waiting my turn (I was at least six cars back). She asked me if I could please bring a breathing treatment for my daughter as quickly as possible. Immediately, I began to worry because she had just left the house completely symptoms free, and it is highly unusual for her to struggle without any symptoms present. As I explained current location, I assured her I would be there there in a few minutes.

Then...I watched mothers get out of the vehicle and walk their children to the door and say good-bye before returning to the car...but before actually entering the car would engage in conversation with another mother. As I breathed my deep Lamaze breathing I was completely annoyed with their blatant disregard for the rest of us waiting patiently. I realize they had no way of knowing that my oldest daughter was in distress and I needed to go...quickly. They could, however, see the long line of cars rapidly growing behind them, though. It was the longest 12 minutes of my life (on a good day it would have only taken a couple).

I will not miss my final run through that line...at all. Admittedly, I like proficiency and people to follow the guidelines. I have quietly managed to endure this line four days a week for the entire school year without saying a word...until now.

So forgive me as I whoop through my tears today as my little girl clamors into the backseat for the last time, chattering about the events of her morning.

Double Eeeekkk!

Yesterday, as I was chatting with my husband, he saw his favorite biologist approaching. His affinity for her was evident in his description; however, luckily I do not have jealous tendencies.

Anyway, he was off to escort her to the job site. Upon arrival, she scrambled up the water pipe where she perched with her binoculars in search of mice. When she was finished she clamored down and headed back to her car. She slid into her Saab and drove off in her now creosote-covered pants.

"Ron!" I gasp.

"I am sure she figured it out." I could see his nonchalant shrug through the phone.

As my mind raced to find a counter-argument to his approach, I realized I couldn't. I know she doesn't care much for my husband. I know she doesn't listen to him. I know she thinks he is just a dumb ol' miner. I am sure her condescension leaves nothing to the imagination. Maybe there really wasn't anything to say...

On another note, I know I am just a farmer's daughter, but aren't mice nocturnal? If one was seeking them, wouldn't it be best to look at dusk or dawn--not mid-day? Just wondering...

EEeeeeekkkkk!

Once upon a time I had a mouse in my house. I do not like mice in my house. My husband teases me about my anti-mouse stance! But...

Now my husband does not like mice either. Particularly mice that may potentially reside in the vicinity of his new job site that environmental agencies are interested in, as the job cannot go forward until someone determines whether or not the mouse actually exists on the site.

Of course, sitting and waiting for the discovery of a mouse in the field takes money. Lots of money. Every day the job is delayed someone must pay the price of the wait.

Actually, I suspect my husband actually enjoys tormenting these poor environmental folks with his logic.

I can almost hear him pragmatically and professionally, "Let me clarify your concerns. You are telling me that the job must wait for a critter (insert scientific name) we are not even sure exists on this site? It is difficult to explain the delay of a job because of a mouse no one has seen, so perhaps you would like to discuss it with the job manager and owner." Then he graciously takes them next door, he steps in and introduces them and gives a brief of the aforementioned logic, and then he discreetly exits--and I suspect he is chuckling.

Personally, I love the irony of the situation because I am sure these same folks use running water in their homes everyday. I am sure they would be the first to complain if that running water stopped. If one wants running water, it comes at a price. The tunnel to carry water to city of San Francisco needs to be dug. Digging requires disrupting the ground for a temporary time; thus a compromise must be sought.

I find myself wondering...will it be the mouse or Ron?

In my house, it has been no contest for 17 years 11 months and 11 days. See how lucky you are honey?

18 Days

...until we begin our trek to California. 14 days and the packers will arrive. 16 days and United Vanlines will begin loading. 12 more days of school.

So many numbers. So many things to do. So little time. So hard to say good-bye. So excited for our new adventure.

Barre

Disclaimer: Proceed with caution. Proud mother ahead.

Reluctantly, Kiahra responded to my call to rise and shine for ballet. Of course, the dreary day begins by producing rain upon our arrival.

Andrew is teaching today. He greets Kiahra with surprise, but I hear the hope in his voice when he inquires if she is joining his class this morning. It is a class designed for adults. She is there to make-up her missed class earlier in the week due to her band concert.

His eyes light up when she affirms his question. I see his mind begin working routines that I sense are designed for Kiahra. He pushes her to the max. He has her driven personality and he loves to see how far he can take her. They have the same dance personality...Intensity. I only know Kiahra is reluctantly embracing this class, as it was evident earlier through her body language...until she entered the studio.

As Andrew's eyes twinkled with the challenge, her body stood poised with willingness to accept the challenge she knew was coming. He senses this. As the music begins after rapidly fired instructions that I cannot even absorb, his eyes study her movements intently. I follow his eyes. My untrained eyes do not see what he sees, but I see her legs rippling with control as she navigates the complicated routine. Those legs I have disliked my entire life. The ones that were too big to sport the tight jeans of the 80s. Suddenly, they are beautiful in the strength and poise of dance. Enamored I watch those legs move through the routine at the barre with such flexibility, grace, and beauty my eyes fill with tears.

As I glance back to Andrew he is still studying her with intensity. There is no one else in the room through his eyes. He enjoys the challenge of watching her and evaluating her slightest movement to create the beauty of dance. When the music stops, he gently demonstrated the subtle hip movement he was want Kiahra to modify. He addresses her and haphazardly includes the rest of the class. Then he fires another routine and the music begins accompanied by the staccato of his snapping fingers. I watch as she modifies her movements. He is too. Pleased, he scans the rest of the dancers.

Andrew is from California. He learned to dance there. He knows Kiahra will be studying there shortly. I know he wants her to perform well. He told me he sees a gift in my children (he works with Kade too). I now know he is not being nice, as that is not his style. He is sincere and serious about ballet.

My nostalgia for the time Kiahra has spent in this studio, I know, is related to our rapidly approaching departure. I am intensely proud of her. I hope she always dances. Her body was made to dance. I know she dreams of dancing.

Despite the challenges of life, I hope she always dances in the rain, the sunbeams, with children, with elderly, in darkness...and still discovers the twinkling stars. I hope all my children dance.

IMAX

Chatting with my husband last night, as he was finishing up at work and I was getting kids ready for bed (the time change adds an interesting dynamic), he told me he was going to see Iron Man 2 at the IMAX later.

Admittedly, sometimes I am envious of his freedom in California; however, as soon as he uttered the word IMAX my body instinctively recoiled.

A year or so ago, I took the kids to the Carnegie Science Center which is always a fun day! It is filled with hands-on science experiments...and an IMAX theatre. This particular day, I decided to treat the kids to a show, as Ron was going to be working late.

I can't even remember which show we saw. What I do remember are the waves of nausea hitting me so hard I didn't think I would survive. Simultaneously, Chayse whimpered and crawled into my lap burying her head. Together we curled up with eyes shut tight seeking solace from the sickness we felt within. After an eternity in our "perfect" seats (middle and center) the show finally drew to an end. As the rest of the gang was bubbling over with enthusiasm, I was just focusing on putting one foot in front of the other to exit the theatre without throwing up. As the daylight greeted me I felt relief, but not from my symptoms of nausea--they stuck with me for the rest of the evening. I hadn't felt so nauseous since my pregnancy with Kade. My former love of all adventurous, spinning, twirling carnival rides had officially been reduced to intolerance for even the perception of motion. Though, interestingly, I have dicovered that I can enjoy a good roller coaster ride!

Anyway, I hope my husband enjoyed the show, but like I said, I was only too happy to find my cozy bed for the night. The memory of that day has not dimmed at all. Just recalling the details makes me queasy...

Trampin'

My marriage vows evidently clearly stated move after move somewhere in the fine print. I missed it that day.

We were married in Butte County and resided there for a few months before our first move to Billings, MT. We were excited. It was a small U-Haul.

After the wool market ceased to exist due to open trade, the mining world called us to Gardiner, MT via U-Haul again in a snow storm. Another wonderful adventure at the gate to Yellowstone National Park. Then the mine stability began to falter.

Back to Whitewood, SD in a horse trailer where Ron worked for a stint as a Diamond Driller at Homestake Mining Co., where I also worked in payroll until Nikela was born. Again...mine reductions.

Out to Big Timber, MT to a new mine, we moved our mobile home accompanied by my brother's horse trailer. Then a transitional time in which a call from Minneapolis, MN enticed us away again for a tunnel job in a bigger U-Haul. As it neared completion, we returned to Big Timber via Dad's semi where we resided for 4 1/2 years--a record for us!

Then off to Pittsburgh compliments of Mayflower and my cousin Greg. Now San Francisco via United (the rep was here yesteday). Big truck. The next move will be smaller. Our oldest daughter will graduate in California...and maybe the next. Bittersweet.

My eighth adventure in almost eighteen years. A few things have changed through the years. Exhaustion sets in whenever the word "move" is uttered. The household has grown...significantly. Extensive research precedes every move to ensure all needs are met. Ron finds the new house. My superstitions are extensive. I don't unpack the last box(es) (though may be trying the reverse psychology of this soon...). Last, but not least, be very careful what you wish for...

In the mining world the wanderlust for a hot ore vein is called trampin'. It also refers to the volatile world of mining in which one is tramped when the mine closes. "Tramped again," my husband says. It is like the gold rush--the rush of a new adventure with high hopes and dreams. Admittedly, I have even become victim to this rush for adventure. It is the life of a miner's wife. It is a humble life filled with uncertainty...but the oh, the stories I will be able to tell when I grow old! Though I wonder where that will be...

The Haircut

A week or so ago, Ron decided he needed haircut. In the manner in which he undertakes most projects, he set out to get it done in his new community. He had just left the office on a Friday evening, and it was nearing 7 PM, and he found a little shop that was closing up, but the hours stated they were open until 7:30 PM, so he knocked and the little lady let him in and sat him in the chair. As she prepped him, she asked, "What you want?" After some short discussion, my husband told her she could use the clippers if it was easier and the haircut began.

The clippers started buzzing away. Ron felt her take a long swipe from the nape of his neck to his forehead. Then he heard, "Ooooh, miy Lor'! Oooooh, miy Lor'!"

He couldn't see anything, but the tone of her voice and repetition was a bit worrisome, but he assured her it couldn't be that bad. He told her just to blend it in and it would fine...and if necessary she could just shave his head.

Then she said, "Eyebrows?"

To which Ron responded, "I guess?" He doesn't generally have his eyebrows trimmed, but thought if she was recommending it, he must need it.

When she spun Ron around for a look in the mirror, he had no eyebrows. She had cut such a wide deep swath through his right brow with the clippers, that in the end she essentially just shaved them both off in an attempt to "fix" them. A bit horrified, he sported sunglasses all week; however, not before scaring his current roommate, an ex-marine, to death with his new look after sneaking up behind him. Then he had to trim his goatee a bit to match his new look, so he was looking a bit clipped.

As I listened to Ron's recounting of the haircut, he kept repeating his attempt at a thick Spanish accent, "Ooooh, miy Lor', Oh, miy Lor'." He assures me he will not forget that phrase or voice any time soon. His brows have 10 days growth, so while they are a bit thin and short, I am sure they are not an accurate representation.

He forewarned the Safety Manager that it was not to be discussed at the office, and interestingly, no one asked. I would love to tip them off that the story (which I simply cannot do justice to) is worth the inquiry.

However, a few minutes after I finished giggling over Ron's story at his expense (but in my defense, it was completely the way in which he recanted the details with such seriousness and nonchalance that it killed me), I asked Nikela if she wanted me to make her a hair appointment to trim her locks. She affirmed my inquiry and explained what she would like and with whom. Then she added she would really like an eyebrow wax. Of course, this tickled my funny bone all over again, and renewed Ron's interest in the conversation. Of course he dryly responded, he knew a great place in California that didn't even use wax!

Giggling, we started the piano recital.

Art Show

Bellwood Preschool nurtures kids on every level, but Chayse particularly loves their art room. This evening we ventured out to enjoy the yearly art show.

The first masterpiece was a self-portrait. I love her attention to detail!



Charming watercolor walk in the rain



Gorgeous grapes



Fruity favorite



Flower fun



Cheetah man



Robotic character



Self-sculpture as...an artist (surprise!) complete with personalized necklace.



The artist poses beside her display!



Topped off with a trip to Dairy Queen to celebrate. The artisit thoroughly enjoyed her strawberry sundae!

Home Sweet Home

From my front door, the entry way includes the stairwell to the upper floor, a typical feature of colonial style homes.



The powder room to the right (of the front door). Tight shot. I removed the wallpaper from the sixties added plaster (for texture) and paint to the original carrara tile (made by Pittsburgh Plate Glass).



The fireplace accents one end of the living room.



Furniture fills the other end.



From the other angle...with the window!



Both windows! Until a few months ago, the television was safely tucked into the game room...but here it is in my living room where I suspect it will stay for the next few weeks, as the game room is void of furniture now and slowly filling with boxes.



Last, but not least, is our music room off the living room(though it is officially the dining room). I love the view from this room, but it is sweetest when accompanied by the sound of music. I even managed to capture my favorite pianist in action...now, if only I was savvy enough to record it and set this blog to music...



Up the stairs, next!

Kitchen

Several months ago I finally finished some of the details in my new remodelled kitchen, and my darling sister requested photos. Of course, my intentions were good, but my initiative was low to clean and prep the kitchen for photographs, so the days turned into months. This afternoon, after the realtor left I realized it was my turn to snap a few shots, which, by the way, is far more challenging than it looks attempting to capture the essence of the room from one angle in addition to lighting issues on a rainy day. I was literally rolling around the kitchen and this is the best I have. I should probably learn to edit someday...in my spare time.

My humble kitchen with my favorite cherry cabinets painted in biscotti and distressed! (The cabinet guy was horrified that someone would distress cherry cabinets, but the expolsed cherry compliments the red hues of the floor. As an aside, it is not a popular look in the East.)



A tricky angle but a glimpse of my pantry where the pocket door leads to the dining room that I use as a music room :)



The ceiling has great old beams that are original to the house, and when they matched the former cabinetry they were not very charming, but I love the character they add to the room. A feeble attempt to catpure the essence...



...from a couple angles.



I wanted an island, but I couldn't decide what exactly it was I wanted for a year. When Kristi and I were in IKEA I discovered an island in the scratch and dent as we were browsing...it was close what I had been envisioning. I did not want anything too big, as I value mobility, but I needed a bit more counter surface. I had envisioned something open and useable...and after a few days thought, I decided it was what I wanted. Without hesitation (I am sure for fear the decision may be reversed...) my sweet husband made the IKEA run on Christmas Eve and promptly put it together before our Christmas party. I love, love, love it! Oh, and all it needs is food safe mineral oil occasionally rubbed on the butcher block. I had also thought about staining the legs with the same blue stain on my beadboard...but I think I will leave that for the next folks now.



The original red oak floor with pegs (plugs) is stunning. The floor is actentuated by the beams. We had the floors sanded and finished clear--they seldom escape notice.



Finally, at the other end of the room is a warm fireplace and built-in bookshelves that are designed to be a family room, but I love it as my dining area.



My apologies for my poorly decorated shelves. I have started packing and I just arrange things acceptably on the shelves as I organize the next box. Love this photo, as on the top shelf on the left is evidence we are from Montana! Squirrel control. I did remove it for the realtor's photos :)

Sharing

Sunday morning. Mother's Day. Nestled in the familiar pew with my kids...and, well, an extra one or two. Listening to the story of Lydia. The woman who encountered Paul at the river. The woman who dealt in purple, the extraordinary color of wealth and power in biblical times. Yet Lydia emerges with a deep faith. As the sermon continues, there is recognition that many biblical stories of deep faith are of women. As he shifts to the remembrance of all the women of faith who nurture us...from birth mothers, to adoptive mothers, to teachers, to friends...my mind was drifting in the personal reflections zone and I thought fondly of all the special women in my life...when my reverie was interrupted by my oldest daughter leaning forward and whispering, "Mom, it is funny, but you are all of those things. You are a mom, an adoptive mom, a teacher, a friend..."

And my heart was squeezed tightly in my chest, as Kiahra chimed in agreeing with her sister and adding her perspective, "...it is funny because it is true. Some of your students still call you...you are a mom to many..."

And I silently attempted to breathe. My heart did not take these soft whispers for granted because teenagers and tweens generally don't agree with each other and their compliments and expressions of love are not abundantly shared, ever. As I fought back the tears and smiled into the beautiful faces of my oldest girls I saw an inner beauty and love emulating from their hearts. The overwhelming love that filled me in this moment was like the flood of emotions I felt each time I gazed into the eyes of each of my newborn babies for the first time. I desperately fought the urge to burst into tears of happiness. I have stumbled through many moment of motherhood and this unconditional response of love was overwhelming.

One of my greatest Mother's Day moments...ever. Forever.

Shoes

Mother's Day is a bit of a Hallmark holiday, but it does give me time to pause and remember my mother. 39 Mother's Days have come and gone since my arrival into the world. I know for the first 18 years I spent every Mother's Day with her, but since then, the shared days have been few and far between. I actually cannot remember the last time we shared a Mother's Day together. It doesn't matter to me though because we share other wonderful days together, though I wish they were more frequent.

One of those days was last summer when Mom and I spent a few hours shopping...just the two of us. I had so much fun just leisurely browsing and trying on different outfits I probably wouldn't have. In the end I bought a nifty sundress. It was full of color and had my Mom's approval. I hadn't bought a sundress in years. As I was still basking in the joy of finding a cool dress, my mother said it was time to look at shoes. Hummm...shoes. Well, as I pondered that, I realized I could use a new pair of shoes...I hadn't really thought about it. It wasn't until that moment that I realized I seldomly buy shoes. Though I can always fondly count on my mother to be cutely outfitted from head to toe. Of course, she found me the perfect pair--bright yellow and blending perfectly, and I wore them out to dinner for my birthday.

With the approach of this Mother's Day, I took it upon myself to shop for a new dress. I found a dress or two...and a few other things too...but admittedly, this time I headed to the shoe department to seek out the perfect pair to accentuate my new outfit. Immediately, I thought of Mom. She would have enjoyed this adventure. I wish she would have been there to help me.

Mom was always there for me as a child...always. I cannot even begin to share everything she taught me throughout those years. Many lessons I didn't even realize until I became a mother. Perhaps the greatest gift she gave me was what I learned about motherhood from watching her. I am so grateful for the role model I have had, but even more grateful for her unconditional love. Though we are not exactly alike she still loves me. She is quiet. I...well, I love to talk. She wears great shoes. I...well, I am still expanding my selection...but those are hard shoes to fill. I need practice. Ultimately, I am so thankful for my privilege to walk so many years next to those great shoes.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom! I miss you!

Visit

Flowers? For me?

As the wrinkled hand extended them to me, the eyes were twinkling and in the serious voice of youth, nervously inquired, "Would you go to the Prom with me?"

Delighted. I laughed.

My interview had arrived.

Incredibly well-read, he loves a good story and a hearty laugh. I love to listen and join the conversation. The hour slipped quickly away, but the introduction lingered on my heart. Sporadically I jotted thoughts down throughout the evening. I think I have discovered a wonderful book filled with stories of living just waiting to be written.

How about an introduction...

She reads fiction. He reads nonfiction. She watches The Republic. He laughs with Seinfeld downstairs.

Side by side on Sunday morning they sit. Side by side on Sunday afternoon they enjoy the symphony. Side by side for 55 years they have waltzed. They know when to dance. They know when to sit out. Real love.

Or...

In the year Charles Lindbergh crossed the Atlantic and Babe Ruth hit 60 home runs, a boy entered the world in Brownsville, Pennsylvania.

With insight...

As he reflected on the history of Brownsville and its slow demise over the past 40 years, he commented, "It is difficult revive a Phoenix when the ashes are so thick."

Then...

He promised to tell me the story, "My Biggest Break."

I can't wait.

Heartfelt Hurt

Yesterday, Chayse and I went to lunch. She loves sushi, too! We enjoyed our quiet time together...well, it wasn't exactly quiet as she chattered away! Then as we headed home, the shopping center beckoned us forth. Without hesitation, we fell under the spell. Together we explored and shopped and tried things on.

Chayse loved it. Her enthusiasm and patience for a five year old are amazing!

However, at one point, she turned to me and said, "Mommy, this foot just doesn't work like my other one."

Instantly the tears well up and my throat swells shut. Wordlessly, I watch her as she continues as she flexes her foot, trying not to betray my emotions. This is the second time she has made this comment. The first was matter-of-factly with the physical therapist.

"I don't know why. It is so hard to go down the stairs and hop like Mrs. R asked me too. I try though, Mom."

I still can't speak, so I smile. Eventually I find my voice and encourage her willingness to work hard.

She drifts to another topic.

My heart hurts. We never discuss her feet. She does not know why one doesn't work the same...but I do. Someday we will have to tell her. I have thought about that day for years. I know when we tell her, the story will hurt too. I worry. Intuitively, she has known for a long time that one foot doesn't work as well as the other. Though the anger left me long ago, the devastation that it didn't need to be like this fills me with irrevocable sadness.

Often I worry that her foot hurts too. I suspect it does. She never complains.

I love her tenacity...well, most of the time! Her spirit is strong. She embraces life full force. I hope we can sustain her courage and passion through the anger that may come as the reality unfolds.

Breathe...

Monday. 11:35 AM.

As I pull up to preschool to pick up Chayse, my cell phone begins ringing. Reluctantly I answer.

As the school nurse introduces herself, I feel myself inhale sharply. I hear "...breathing difficulty...perspiring...wheezing...left lung...PE...rested...back in class."

I exhale slowly.

Then I hear. "Why doesn't she have an inhaler? According to her records..."

"Admittedly," I state, "she has been stable for several months, so I had let it lapse." I assured her I would contact the doctor.

By late afternoon, I had an inhaler in hand.

Tuesday. 10:30 AM.

Telephone rings. School nurse. I hold my breath. Listening as I scramble to find the keys.

"...Nikela here...yesterday...inhaler in pocket...speaker phone...discuss..."

Suddenly I realize that Nikela is in trouble for carrying her inhaler. I stop in my tracks. Exhale.

"...students cannot carry...doctor's release...administered by nurse...four hours...best if kept in office..."

"What about track? I would like her to have it available for track."

"If only one inhaler...(pointed pause)...check it back out to her at the end of the day...remind...send paperwork...need original packaging...doctor's note..."

I exhale slowly. First I am in trouble for not having an inhaler available for use at school. Then without thinking about protocols...Nikela is now carrying the requested inhaler.

Breathe...In...1...2...3...Out...1...2...3...as I fill out the necessary paperwork while wondering if I will hear from the nurse again tomorrow...

In the meantime, neither of us is breathing easily.

Streets of New York

Early on a spring Sunday morning, I was walking down the streets of New York City en route to the Empire State Building with my oldest girls, and it was unusually quiet, even peaceful. In our Western habit, we smiled and often said good morning to the few folks we met. At one point a tall, muscular man was leisurely coming down the street carrying a couple packages, and before he even reached us, he flashed a million dollar smile and warm hello that we returned. A moment later, a little man dressed in a black suit rushed up behind the man and rudely crashed into him from behind. I abruptly stopped hoping to avert another human collision when I recognized the sound of breaking glass. My eyes followed the sound, and the wine gushed forth. The big man gazed at it frozen in utter astonishment. Stunned he looked at us, and then down the street where the little man had picked up his pace significantly.

Realizing this little man was not even going to apologize, frustration filled his face and voice, as his voice echoed through the empty street,"Hey...hey, you...Hey!"

At this point, the little man was almost running down the street before slinking into the nearest alley. Gone.

In resignation, the massive body slumped to the ground and began gathering the shattered pieces, as he carefully guarded his other package.

Divine Lemon

Double Lemon Supreme Pie

I love this lemon pie. The Schwan's truck stopped today carrying this, my greatest temptation. I promised I wouldn't indulge. Then I did.

Tart. Sweet. Divine.

In the end, I decided all these calories I am burning with my rigorous cleaning could be replaced with this delightful treet. Just to make sure,though, I started to jog both flights of stairs. I will be tired, but happy tonight.

Spiderman

The little boy across the cul de sac from us is one of Chayse's favorite playmates. Today he walked with us to the bus stop as Spiderman. His older brother was horrified and embarrassed. The kids on the bus stared and giggled. Spiderman was oblivious. Spiderman had more important things to worry about.

Now Spiderman and Chayse are exploring the neighborhood at their leisure. First stop was to look for snakes under the plastic covering a mulch pile. No luck. Though they continue to dart here and there in search of adventure. I can hear their four and five your old voices as I work.

I sure could use some super powers to help me prep the house. Instead, I have my knee pads. A year ago, I was complaining that my knees just can't take the scrubbing on all the hard floor surfaces in my house like they used to (no carpet at all). My husband was listening to me and a few days later he brought me the knee pads that the concrete workers use. They are a bit of heaven. I can scrub floors (tile and hardwood) and the baseboards, and still walk when I am finished! Better than diamonds...and the sparkle in my life is in my floors...well, at least for a few minutes :)

Melting...

Yesterday was a beautiful day. It was 83 degrees here. My house warmed up and didn't cool down overnight. Despite the steady rain it is still 70 degrees with 90% humidity. I am dying here. Between the heat and the temperature, I am as sticky as a lint roller. I am trying to clean the house and mop the floors...by hand, but I can barely breathe. Finally, I realized that I just had to turn on the air conditioning because the attic fan was not helping as it just sucked the humidity into the house and the magazines were withering as quickly as I.

May 2. Air conditioning. I know a few of you are still fighting snow, so I am feeling guilty that I turned it on...though just as I sit here I can feel it improving my disposition by the minute. Even more disturbing, though, Ron hasn't even turned on the air conditioning in San Francisco yet! (However, this is an excellent sign that I may be very compatible with this climate...)

Back to work.

Rain, rain, rain

Early this morning the raindrops began to fall, and I suspect they will fall for a while...probably days. Kade and I quietly headed out this morning to Dunkin' Donuts. It is the nearest donut shop. I haven't bought donuts for breakfast for a long, long time. I love donuts. Kade loves donuts. Well, we all love donuts.

Kade really thought it would have been fun to visit Krispy Kreme instead, but there isn't one nearby. He was reminiscing about visiting the store in Billings, Montana where he could climb up on the little stool and watch the donuts' journey. Together we drove on the deserted, rainy streets. Just the two of us.

I smiled.

Nostalgia is part of moving. Remembering is important because sometimes as we say farewell we worry we are leaving something behind.

Though admittedly, I am cleaning and cleaning and cleaning, and we are leaving lots behind. Material goods anyway. We are pausing now to remember more frequently.

Last night I had a couple extra girls...they answered Skype when Ron called. They wanted to see the lemon tree. Ron even picked a lemon for them. I heard the squeals of delight. Then when it was my turn he asked how the girl scout leader was. There are always so many girls at my house that I sometimes forget they don't all belong here.

Which reminds me of a story...last fall, we were gathering around the table for a snack, and I couldn't figure out where one chair went, as we were one chair short. I looked around the first floor to no avail. Confused I appealed to my family for help. Smiling, Ron said, we have an extra child...a chair is not missing. Like I said, I sometimes don't even notice they don't belong me.

One asked me if she could call me mom last night since this was her other home.

"Of course," I answered, "As long as your other mother pays your expenses." Then I become "Mom" by all, all night. I like it better than Mrs. Klinghagen. Significantly better. They loved their donuts for breakfast, too, before I sent them home to their other mothers.

My home is a hub of activity. The neighborhood children seem to gather here. I love it. All the sounds they bring with them--laughter, giggles, shrieks, arguments, animated conversations--are music to my ears as they explore and navigate their woodland adventures and friendships. Childhood is fleeting. What gift to enjoy it!

I have come accept the fingerprints on the front door and scattered throughout the house and the chaos that children bring, and I hope they will remember the memories...not the mess.